


Break Time

by cyanideinsomnia



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Being Walked In On, Blow Jobs, Bottom Astrotrain (Transformers), Dubious Consent, Fear of Death, Gun Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Submissive Astrotrain (Transformers), Teasing, Valve Fingering (Transformers), Valve Play (Transformers), Voyeurism, continuing the saga of astrotrain being a big ol valve slut, squirm for me astrotrain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24179044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideinsomnia/pseuds/cyanideinsomnia
Summary: In which Skywarp is an aft, Megatron is a kinky slagger and Astrotrain is caught with contraband.
Relationships: Astrotrain/Megatron (Transformers), Astrotrain/Skywarp (Transformers)
Kudos: 44





	Break Time

**Author's Note:**

> referencing the conehead cone head incident: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24178885

Skywarp was off-shift.

Astrotrain knew this not by scheduling or word of mouth, but by the fact that he had been practically crammed into the nearest supply closet nearly too small for his wings at the first flash of black and purple.

He was technically still on-duty, but he wasn't about to tell the frustrated, bored, horny Seeker hungrily devouring his mouth and kneading fingertips in any gaps of his armor he could reach. And he definitely wasn't going to stop him as those deft little fingers made their way further south, desperately and almost clumsily fiddling with his interface paneling - favoring the valve cover this time, which was fine, although he may have allowed both to open to prevent a growing number of scratches in sensitive regions.

With the way he was going at it, those scratches were trying to become dents, and then he'd have to traverse the ship with his panels unable to close again. He'd rather indulge in that sort of activity _consensually_ , thank you, sir.

His superior officer didn't seem to care much, immediately focusing his attentions on rough-handling his valve _just the right way_ that it should have been painful, but instead sent sharp pangs of pleasure through his spinal struts and tingles down his legs. It had been too long since the shuttle had been given a proper fragging in the lower department - and Skywarp knew, he always knew when it would be the most sensitive and unguarded, the easiest to play like a harp from hell. Like he had a fucking valve sense or something.

The hand picking and twisting at his nodes promptly pushed itself inside him, fingers springing out to stretch him like he knew he wanted. Then they snapped back together-- and sprung out again, making their own rhythm of pushes and pulls as his fingers dug hard into the gaps between his nodes, as if trying to leave scratches there, instead. 

Spring, snap, scratch. Spring, scratch, snap, spring, snap, _scraaaatch_.

His legs were already shaking, venting hard and hoping to Primus he didn't overload too soon. 

Seemingly picking up on this, the hand slid back out, and Skywarp leaned in to press a few soft kisses to the still-extended, neglected spike, a devious grin slowly spreading across pale faceplates and sending a shiver up its recipient's struts.

He knew that grin. It meant either really good, or really bad-- and much harder to read than his own sort of half-cocked wasted smirk.

"I can tell you been outta practice," His voice was low enough no one would hear, vibrating through his panels. "A damn shame, man. I love seein' how far you can go. Stretchin' like _rubber_. Maybe I oughta pick you up somethin' nice to help with that."

Astrotrain opened his mouth to ask what that could be - after all, there wasn't much in the supply closet but supplies, and he wasn't keen on sticking half this stuff up his valve, even if it DID mean a good stretching - but Skywarp vanished in a flash of purple light and a loud VOP before he had the chance, leaving him splay-legged and semi-exposed.

The door was still open, after all. 

A jolt of fear and arousal may have arced through him at the idea that anyone, especially an officer, could easily walk right in and see him in this state. It wasn't too far from the command room, after all. It was dangerous. It was exciting.

Although if it was Megatron, all bets were off. His spark started pounding a little harder in its chamber at the thought of his leader coming in. He wasn't sure if he could handle that.

Before he'd worried himself into either a spark attack or an overload, another flash nearly blinded him. When his optics reset, Skywarp was standing over him of course, wearing that same devious expression-- and holding _his leader's fusion cannon_ in both hands.

"You-- what--" He had to reset his vocalizer AND his optics a few times to make sure this is what was going on. "How did you-- why did you-- we are so dead."

The smaller mech only laughed and knelt back down between the triplechanger's splayed legs with his bounty, idly running his fingers along the rim of his valve, lubricant already pooling beneath him. 

"We're only dead if he catches us." Patting the valve almost jovially. "Now c'mon, don't tell me you're too afraid to take Megs' cannon. I seen you take a Conehead's cone head before, this thing'll totally fit n' you know it."

A slight pause as he fiddled with the side of the weapon out of view.

"Turned it off. No internal burnin'."

"Are you sure?"

"I ain't dumb, mech. I can tell when it's turned off." Skywarp blinked, and then gave a sheepish little laugh before fiddling with it again. "Okay NOW it's off."

Astrotrain swallowed thickly and attempted to get comfortable in what would likely become his tomb, charge a little dampened by the mortal terror. That probably meant he could last longer now, but at what cost? How long was his partner in crime off-shift, again?

The Seeker, seemingly oblivious or he just didn't care, carefully lined up the business end - the widest point - with the larger mecha's valve. His reasoning would be that if that part fit, then the rest of it would be easy, he supposed. Fingers set to massaging his nodes once more, getting him back into the mood and more prepared to stretch.. and he'd be lying if he said the idea of stretching enough to fit that thing didn't excite him just a bit.

His hips shifted, spreading wider. Skywarp began to very slowly push, and he had to stifle a hiss of pain as his valve seized up, trying to reject it.

"Relax your damn valve or we'll be here all day. S'not gonna kill you."

Optics closed, trying not to think about what he was doing. Trying to focus on his internal walls, and the cables in his frame, and commanding both of them to just relax. You want this. You need this. It's been so long, and you'll never have this opportunity again. 

The lip of the cannon slipped past his rim, and the pained hiss was replaced by a soft gasp. It pulled back, and then edged in again, crushing and releasing the outer nodes, inching deeper and deeper on each shallow 'thrust'. He could feel himself shaking again, and he tried to stay still, biting down on his lip to stifle any further sounds just in case, but oh Primus-- he thought he'd walked the razor's edge before, pain and pleasure pulling at his body like fighting turbohounds, but they had nothing on this.

He couldn't stop the sharp yelp as the tapered part of the business end was sucked inside, hips instinctively bucking up to meet it and forcing it deeper in. The warmth of lubricant trickled down his trembling thighs, swelling behind and around the too-thick weapon inside his valve, trying to compensate for walls stretched too thin, nodes too exposed.

It seemed his tormentor had found a roadblock as he became more aroused, because the cannon was no longer pushing inside him, but rather jiggling awkwardly against him and _trying_ to move.

A half-open optic told him that was because Skywarp's hands kept slipping on the smooth, lubricant-slicked shaft. He deigned not to laugh at the sight of the smaller mech struggling to keep a good hand on the thing and reached down to help guide his makeshift dildo, mainly to keep the angle right and the shaft from jiggling while the other pushed.

Probably due to his frustration, Skywarp's first non-jiggly push was HARD, and it felt as though he was just punched in the valve. His body snapped forward, an incoherent croak of static leaving his vocals.

"... sorry about that." That face said he was not sorry at all.

But to his credit, he didn't start pushing again until after Astrotrain had laid back down - well, more of a sit back down considering the tight space - and gotten into a comfortable position. After a while longer he was starting to put his own muscle into it, back and forth, further in, halfway down the shaft, hips rolling against the cannon, thighs pressed a bit closer together to feel the friction against them on its way in and out.

It was less of a fitting and more of a fucking, now, and it was bliss. It had been too long until he'd felt so damn full, and his only complaint was that there was no real texture to catch his nodes.

Skywarp let go of the cannon to allow him full control, moving to sprawl over his torso, head down against his spike, his own valve exposed. Already halfway curled up, it was no trouble to lean a little further forward and dip his glossa into the offered buffet. With both hands on the cannon, it was up to the Seeker to keep himself in place, thighs pressed tightly to his helm like thick black earmuffs, only somewhat more stylish.

They quickly matched each other's rhythm, the massive glossa pressing and probing and curling against nodes in time with each push of the cannon and firm suck on his spike. It was almost a competition, like always, to see who could push who off the edge first - and as Astrotrain had two points of stimulation he was at a disadvantage here.

But he was very skilled with his mouth, as he could easily tell from the vibrations around his spike. Skywarp retaliated by placing both hands at the base where his smaller mouth couldn't reach - halfway down, sliding up his throat - and in return the triplechanger added suction to his licking, perhaps a little nip to the outermost node, a harsh vent in just right angle to send those black wings shooting up and shaking.

Too deep in the Seeker's valve, he didn't notice footsteps. And he didn't notice they were being watched. He didn't notice anything until suddenly his thigh-muffs disengaged, his spike was bare, and his fuckbuddy was gone in another flash of light.

Leaving him exposed, glossa hanging out, lubricant on his face and the Primus-damned fusion cannon jammed halfway up his valve.

With its owner glowering down at him from the doorway.

He stopped cold, voice catching in his throat. He could have sworn his spark had sunken into his pedes or the lubricant-stained floor. Optics nervously flickered from Megatron to the cannon and back again, and there was no way in hell he could talk his way out of this one.

Primus _damn_ it, Skywarp.

"Having fun, are we?"

"I-- ahh--" Scrambling as well as he could in this tiny space, trying to pull the cannon out, fuck it's stuck, it's stuck in his fear-clenching, this is just getting worse. "It wasn't-- I mean--"

The slightly smaller mech knelt down between his underling's legs just as Skywarp had done before him, instantly stopping his struggles dead with a hand placed on one thigh and a grin as cruel as any that been cast before Optimus Prime.

That hand slid down his leg, until he came to his valve and the obstacle inside it. 

Megatron didn't touch him, only reached to the underside of his gun and did something in a fluid motion, optics still boring into Astrotrain's.

He wasn't sure what he had done.. until he felt it slowly beginning to warm up inside him.

"I see you like a bit of a challenge in your berthroom routine, Astrotrain," Said casually, as though he hadn't just turned on a weapon of mass destruction inside his soldier's body. "I want to issue you a challenge of my own: overload for me before the automatic firing sequence goes off, and your punishment for debasing my property while on-duty will be lenient."

"... won't I be dead if I fail?" The triplechanger squeaked out.

Megatron's grin only widened.

Fucking fuck. Fuck. 

Swallowing thickly again, keeping a wary optic on his leader, his massive mitts shifted to resume their hold on the slick shaft. It was saturated in his fluids, he could barely keep a grip on it. Or maybe that was because his hands were shaking.

Before he could fall back into his rhythm of pumping it in and out of himself, the dark hand moved like lightning again, grabbing the larger hands and pinning them painfully above his helm. The motion in such a small space forced their frames far too close together, nearly touching, and he could feel the warmth of his leader's vents on his face.

When did he get so close? Why did he have to keep grinning like that?

"No hands. Only my cannon." The grin somehow became crueler, and he wasn't sure if that was another jolt of fear or arousal traveling up his struts. "I want you to squirm for me, Astrotrain."

Okay that was definitely arousal.

It didn't help that the cannon had grown warmer against his battered nodes, very gradual but noticeable and so much more pleasureable than death should be. And it definitely didn't help that Megatron closed the door, took a seat on a nearby stack of crates and just.. leered down at him. Watching every twitch and shift of his frame. 

Either he had trust that he wouldn't fail, or he didn't mind being bludgeoned with a few errant shuttle parts.

He kept his hands where the other had left them, pinning them under his own helm to prevent himself from breaking the rules. His shaking thighs slowly closed around the large black instrument of his doom, keeping it in place as his hips began to roll once more. His back immediately arched into the renewed rhythm, nodes singing a little louder from having been left crushed without proper motion for what felt like forever.

Those hungry optics were still trained on his frame, he could just feel them. Burning into him like the gradually warming weapon inside him. Like a knife against his throat.

He found he enjoyed every second of it. Found he tried a bit harder.

At one point his slick thighs slipped, knocking the gun into his leader's perch and shoving more of the weapon inside him, essentially punching himself in the valve again. His body snapped forward once more, a stifled scream in his throat. 

Megatron tsked and casually pushed him back to his original position, and the touch felt like wildfire to his overtaxed systems. He wanted him to touch him. He wanted to touch himself.

His body ached and strained from staying in this position, only partially helped by lifting his legs off the floor, curling his pedes up behind his aft and letting his lower body do the work they were moments earlier. The change in angle opened up a whole mess of sensory information previously missed, the realization he may have been literally squirming for his leader pushing him closer to the edge.

He could feel it coming, and the warmth from the cannon was almost unbearable. It threatened to consume him, even as his own charge was being pulled down to his hips, draining from his processors. The motion of the cannon was everything to his sensory net. Back, forth, up, down, crush, release-- he couldn't remember when he stopped venting until he realized the only ventilation was coming from his leader. Harsh and short, in sharp bursts, hot enough to make itself known against his sensitive equipment. 

Megatron was leaning forward, on the edge of his fucking seat. He looked as though he was restraining himself from ravishing his captive. He was almost close enough to touch.

Please. Please touch him. His body is aching for it. One wildfire fingertip would set him off.

He could distantly hear himself whimpering and moaning, maybe saying this aloud, but he was too far gone to feel ashamed of himself. Too close to oblivion. Within seconds overload crashed over him, hard and brutal and overwhelming as though the entire damn base had collapsed around him. He felt more than saw his leader swoop in for the kill, and he could have sworn the slagger had actually kissed him.

The shuttle only realized he'd passed out when he awoke and his valve was no longer distended, nevermind that he was alone in the supply closet.

Judging by the charred mark in the hallway, he'd cut it rather close.

Primus damn it, Skywarp.


End file.
